The Flight of Pigeons
by Corinnathepoet
Summary: The war is over, and John Walker decides to visit his sister Titty, while his ship is in port. The characters all belong to Arthur Ransome, one of the writers for children that I most admire. Thanks to all the great writers who have followed the tradition of Arthur Ransome and given his characters a life beyond, in particular: constantlearner, Rose and Psyche, and 1Mongoose. Thanks


Flight of Pigeons

John Walker, RN, had what some called a good war. He saw death and misery, but in the main the men in his command came through unscathed and he was not called on to inflict brutality or take part in hand to hand combat. But war always left its taint. His beliefs in the fundamental goodness of people, the importance of order and organization, and the dictum that orders were to be followed, had all been shaken. The actions of Hitler and his soldiers, indeed, the adoration of his countrymen, and their trust in the military to protect them from a mythologized enemy, were mysteries to John, brought up as he had been in an atmosphere of kindness and respect. Nothing had prepared him for what he had seen and heard about from other people.

Nancy, for example, had been in a hospital contingent at the end of war when the camps in Germany were opened and the skeletal bodies of half living humans emerged. The chambers used to kill and the piles of the dead confounded her, who had always lived in the sight of clear water, frankly without religion or belief in anything other than simple humanity. when she told him aobut it,

Despite everyone's expectations, Nancy and John had not married. Once, they had talked about marriage, and decided it would never be with each other. Both had observed with amusement and detachment the courtship and marriage of Dick and Titty, so obviously suited to each other, but in moments of absent mindedness, likely to mislay their own children. Nancy still lived at Beckfoot, and there were others there as well, in fact the place seemed bursting at the seams with people last time he had visited. A few faces were new to John, but he did recognize Daisy of Secret Water days, and was introduced to someone who called herself Port, although he thought maybe her real name was Bess. Nancy had gone in for farming and was attending agricultural college, and had met an older woman she called Beatrix who lived nearby and had encouraged her in that direction.

John himself was at a loose end now. He intended to stay in the Navy, like his father, but was presently on leave.

And it occurred to him that perhaps he could look up some of the people he would quite like to see. Pin Mill was not so very far from Cambridge; perhaps he could visit Titty and Dick, and his nephew and niece. To think was to act with John and he caught the train down next day, wiring ahead to Dick that he was on his way and could they put him up on a couch somewhere for a few days? Any bed that didn't move would do. He thought Peggy might be around too; last time he heard from her she was visiting Ipswich, but then returned to her teaching job. And he knew that Dorothea also lived in Cambridge somewhere.

John stared out of the window as the train rocked through Ipswich, Stowmarket, then Newmarket. Was it really five years ago that he had last seen her? Shut up in some place where she did war work, she had always been busy when he had had leave; the occasional letter, often to one of his sisters, had been shared with him, but no correspondence directly to him had been written. And of course, she had married, some pilot fellow, poor blighter, who had gone down to his death not two months after the wedding. His mind shied away from the thought of the pain she must have suffered, and from the thought of her with anyone else.

It couldn't be that seeing John would mean anything to her; gosh, she was somebody now and he just a poor naval officer. And of course, John was sure that neither she nor any of the Swallows or Amazons had any inkling of how he felt. Only once had he given himself away, but they had all been in such a hurry that neither no-one had noticed, so far as he knew.

It would be safe just to see her, to reassure himself that she was alright. Protectiveness was always what he had felt towards her, ever since that first time when he had been struck like a bolt of lightning with the awareness that her safety was threatened, and that she was as dear to him, and that her loss would count as much, as any of the others.

Titty was waiting at the station with her two year old daughter Mary and three year old son Ted in tow. A trim little car that Titty drove expertly, if a little too fast for John's liking, showed that they must be doing pretty well on Dick's salary as a professor, and he knew that Titty was making quite a name for herself with short stories that she sold to magazines. They had to cross the fens to get to their house near Grantchester Meadows, and John looked around at the low flat country with interest. He made no attempt to make conversation though. It reminded him of the spreading calm that was the coastal inlet they had named Secret Water and he clung gratefully to the same sense of quietude.

"Would you like to go boating one day, John?" asked Titty. "We can get down to the Cam quite close by and you can take a boat up for quite a long way." Titty was puzzled but not surprised by John's silence. He had greeted her and the children as if his mind was preoccupied; but then, the war had affected everyone differently. One had to give people time. At least they had time now.

With an effort John brought his mind back into the car. "How is your work going, Titty?" he said. "Mother really enjoyed your last story; she told me all her friends look forward to your stories. Susan sends her love."

"That's kind of them," said Titty. "I'd really like time to write some more serious works but the stories help us with our house payments. And we are saving up for school for this pair of course." She gestured to the silent children sitting in the back seat, who were used to quiet journeys and were gazing with big dark eyes at the stranger sitting next to their mother.

"Perhaps you might like to have tea one day at Orchard House," continued Titty. "A friend of ours, Alan, lives nearby and we sometimes meet him there. Dorothea knows him too and she sometimes comes along."

John looked straight ahead carefully, watching the winding turns of the road as if he were driving and not Titty. It had been so long that he had kept his feelings shut away in a deeply held part of his being.

"How is Dorothea?" he said.

"Dorothea never says much," replied Titty. "She lets her pen do her talking for her. But she hasn't been writing much. I think she has decided to do some more study now that the war is over. She's not needed anymore at… where she worked."

"Does she live in this area, then?" said John, expressionlessly, gazing at an old weathered church as they drove by it. A flock of pigeons flew from their perches on its roof as they passed. "I wasn't sure where she lived during the war."

"Oh yes, she and Dick and I all worked at the same place during the war, somewhere around here," said Titty, vaguely. Vagueness always attended to talk about the work that Titty, Dorothea and Dick had done. "At the moment she is in rooms in her college. You will see her tonight at dinner. A few people are coming."

"That will be nice," said John automatically, and the rest of the journey was conducted in silence.

The general hubbub of arrival at their attractive cottage, lunch, and a walk with Dick and the children filled the afternoon. Dick was his usual quiet self, but he was much more self-possessed these days; John gathered that his (secret) war work had been rather important, but of course it would be years before Dick could talk about it to anyone, if ever. John had a few secrets himself.

Dick now was a professor of biology at the university; John could never remember which college but it didn't seem to matter. A few passing students tipped their hats and murmured greetings as they walked by; John was amused and pleased by the deference shown to his formerly hesitant and self-effacing friend.

As the time for dinner approached, John went up to the room allocated to him. He dressed slowly, thinking over the days that had brought him to this day. The first lessons in sailing with his mother and father; their first boat and big holiday, both at the far northern lake, where they had met the Amazons. Camping on Wild Cat Island. The misery of the wrecking of the Swallow on the rocks, and camping at Swallowdale. The winter holiday, the igloo, and the Martian signaling. Two children from London, who could skate like anything and knew heaps of school things that even the Amazons didn't know. The cold journey up the lake to the North Pole. Accidentally sailing to Holland in Jim Brading's boat. And surveying Secret Water.

The gold mine, and panning for gold, then the blast furnace and the night of endless pumping of Mrs Blackett's bellows, till they busted at dawn; the disappointment of the black lump of burned copper ore, instead of the longed-for gold ingot. Then the fire on the Topps. And knowing, finally, that which had stayed with him every day since.

Voices downstairs. Laughter, and movement. He had to go down. Shrugging on his jacket, John went out into the passage to the top of the stairs. Coming up to meet him was a woman, dark haired and slim, dressed in black. For a moment he didn't recognize her, then, "John!" she said, and he knew it was her.

Within seconds she was in his arms, crying, and laughing at the same time. Wondering and careful, he put his arms around her, and his cheek gently down onto her hair. Her arms were clasped tight around his waist. He moved, back against the wall away from the top of the stairs, cautious as ever, and stood with his back to the wall, bracing himself and wanting never to let her go. She too stood with her face against his chest and arms around him as if there was a lifetime of holding him to be lived.

How long did they stand there? Was it seconds? Minutes? What was she thinking? Was she holding him for comfort; for certainty of his being real? Was that all? Who was she thinking was holding her? Was it him she was thinking of, or someone else?

After a while, the pressure round his waist lessened and the arms drew away, but did not fall. She held his elbows now, fingers absently stroking the rough fabric of his old tweed coat, and slowly raised her head. Neither of them could speak; John knew why he couldn't, but was not sure why she remained silent.

John stooped and bent his lips to her hair again, and gently kissed the top of her head. He could feel her start of surprise in his arms. Moving slowly backwards, she looked at him full in the face, with an unreadable expression.

"I'm so glad to see you, John," she said, taking his hand. "Come on, let's go down - Titty has dinner ready."

If he had been asked what they ate, John could not have answered. Mechanically he ate soup, then some kind of stew thing, then a pudding. Chatter flowed back and forth but little came from him. When asked about his ship he was able to reply, yes, they were in port, no, there was no posting yet, and yes, he had some leave.

After a while, Dick and Titty excused themselves to take the children upstairs and put them to bed. This would take a while; Titty would read a story, then Dick would concoct the next episode in a serial of his own making. The children looked forward to these every night and went to sleep with minds full of stars and sails and birds. The other guests had gone outside; there was supposed to be a meteor shower that night, and they hoped to see it.

The woman sat staring into the fire. John got up and went into the kitchen, and quickly tidied plates and put things away. The navy trained you for that.

Oh God, he had to say something. His life had been given to him by luck and, perhaps, good management. Every day he had feared death and it had not come; he couldn't waste the rest of their lives now.

He walked back into the sitting room. She had not moved. From behind her, he began to speak.

"Do you remember the day the Topps burned," he began slowly. Her head lifted, but she did not look around. "When you and Titty sent the message by pigeon that saved all the farms."

"Susan, Nancy and I were asleep in the mine, and when we woke, there was smoke. We tried to run to the camp, and found Timothy asleep - we woke him but it was too late for us to escape - we all sheltered in the mine till the fire passed. Then we ran across the Topps with him to get to you and Titty and Roger. All I could think of was you. Perhaps dying in the smoke and fire. When I saw you alive I was so glad. So glad. And I knew."

"I didn't expect to survive the war. I am sorry that your husband died. But we are here still, and I have loved you, I think, since I was fourteen years old. Will you come to me and be my wife?"

There was silence, but for the crackle of fire and the small fallings of logs in the hearth. From upstairs, the sounds of children's laughter could be heard. She made no movement, then, as swift as water over stone, she stood and turned. He could see tears coursing down her face as she moved towards him, but a tremulous smile was in her eyes and on her lips.

Taking his hands, she said, "Are you sure, John? Wasn't it always Nancy?"

"Dorothea," John said. "It was only ever, and always will be, you."

I have dreamed of writing this short story for a long time, having always been convinced that Arthur Ransome laid a trail for us to follow about John's attachment to Dorothea. The most telling moment is in "Pigeon Post", when, trapped by fire, and knowing that the younger members of the party are alone on High Topps in the camp, John is struck with fear for Dorothea's safety. Here is that extract:

Peggy opened her eyes and blinked hard. …What on earth was happening? What were those crackling noises? And the sky was full of smoke. For one moment, she could not believe it. Then she knew. It had happened, the thing people had been dreading all the summer. This was the end of everything. Peggy darted back into the mine and pulled Nancy by the arm, and John.

"Wake up," she cried. "Nancy! John! Susan! Quick! Wake up! The fell's on fire."

"What's the matter?" said Nancy, more than half asleep.

"Fire," shouted Peggy, "FIRE!"

"Don't be a galoot," yawned Nancy.

"It's not time to get up yet," said John, stretching an arm.

"FIRE," yelled Peggy. "It's a big one. Oh, Susan! Do wake up."

Nancy staggered to her feet and went sleepily out of the mine, steadying herself with her hands against the rocky walls. The others, rubbing their eyes and yawning, were close behind her. They were not out of the tunnel before they heard that queer running crackle of fire in short grass and smelt the smoke in the air.

"Giminy," said Nancy. "She's right. Some wretched idiot's set the fell on fire…. I say, and all the fire-brooms are in the camp…

"What about Titty and Roger?" cried Susan.

"And Dorothea," said John. 


End file.
